a brother, gone
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Hell is for burning. - AU after season 3-
1. I'll wear red for a burning

**Title**: I'll wear red for a burning

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton

**Warnings**: spoilers for season three

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 515

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

She flees. Her greatest weapon—the one thing that's never ever failed in all her eons—doesn't work on this _boy_ and she flees.

Her son went against her wishes, formed an army, to be lead by this boy, this Sam Winchester—impervious to the one thing that kills _anything_, destroys angels and gods and demons.

He died in that human village, died and was gone, beyond her, beyond Hell. And her son brought him back, commanded his whore to make the deal. (And oh, yes, how the little dealmaker suffered for that insurrection. Her son escaped her wrath, killed by Sam's brother, but the dealmaker _hurt_ before Sam killed her.) Sam can die, killed by (mostly)human hands and a rusted human weapon.

But _she_ can't touch him. Her greatest, most feared weapon—the reason she ruled in Hell for eons before being cast into the abyss by her upstart spawn, Azazel—fails, falters. Does not harm Sam Winchester in _any_ way.

So she flees. Leaves the meatsuit, leaves Earth, goes back Below to rally her troops. Sam Winchester—Azazel's chosen—will come for his brother.

_Hello, Dean, _she says, circling him. He formed his own Hell, as all souls do. An empty, barren place. She likes it.

_You're my special one, aren't you, Dean? _she asks, reaching out to caress his soulface. _We'll have fun, the two of us. Such fun_.

Sam will find a way down; because of Azazel, he already knows of one Gate. Not much time to play with this sad, paltry soul.

Dean shrieks as she digs into him. Oh, such a magnificent sound.

Her power doesn't work on Sam, but Dean…

Sam will come to Hell, but he won't find his brother. This is her realm, her world, fashioned in her image over millennia. Even the Creator no longer comes here.

_We'll have such fun, _she repeats, smiling down at him. _Welcome, Dean. _

He screams one word, his brother's name. She rips out his tongue, his jaw, his lungs, his eyes. It will all heal by tomorrow, as she wills it. His soulface is not real, after all.

But some things she takes that can't be replaced. Time is fluid here, as she makes it.

Sam will come. Will rip apart Earth and Heaven and Hell, will search every corner of every world—but Dean will no longer be.

She cannot touch Sam Winchester, her only child's chosen king, but his brother? Oh, yes, him she can destroy. She will burn him away, will erase everything of _Dean_ there was. There won't even be enough left to cast into the abyss.

Sam will come, but Dean will be gone. The boy will take her throne and her realm, but victory will be hers. Hers, and so sweet.

Hell is for burning. And Hell is hers. _My playground, Dean, _she whispers. _My will and my realm, my power. One thing in existence I can take from him, your brother—Azazel's king. Only one thing. _

Hell is for burning, and there will be nothing left of this soul when Sam comes.


	2. This is the story of you and me

**Title**: This is the story of you and me

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. title from Luther Vandross

**Warnings**: future!fic

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 310

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

Her army is dust before him, smoke and ash and the scent of sulfur. Her castle of bone and ivory crumbles at his scantest touch, leaving her dark throne in the midst of rubble. Her banner unravels and the threads settle at his feet.

She stands alone against him at the end, body wracked with shivers as snow falls in Hell for the first time since the beginning.

"Lilith," he says softly, caressing her pale cheek with his bloody handy. "Beautiful, arrogant Lilith."

She glares at him, jaw quivering with held-in words.

He will ask it once. "Where is my brother?"

"Not here," she answers. "Nowhere you can find him." Her eyes flash with hate, rage, one final chance at defiance. She has had supreme power for eons, since Lucifer vanished. She has forgotten the cloying taste of fear.

His anger lashes for her, settling around her in chains. "Lilith," he purrs, stalking closer, circling her. "I am not in the mood. I just destroyed your kingdom. I want my brother. Now."

She smirks. "He isn't here, _boy_." She stares at him straight on. "He isn't anywhere anymore."

Her army is gone, along with her court. All of her followers are dead or fled. She has no reason to lie—except to cause him pain, vengeance for the destruction.

He rips apart her mind, digging for any piece of information. He shatters her consciousness, leaving her an empty shell, and then he burns her body from existence.

She did not lie. He single-handedly defeated Hell and Lilith did not lie. Standing in the center of the Pit, he screams, throwing outward and upward all the emotions he's held tightly in his grasp for a year, desperation and rage and pain and fear. Hell trembles at the onslaught, teetering on the edge of oblivion—

Lilith did not lie and Hell falls.


End file.
